


I could bury you alive

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Mercy Route, Pacifist Route After No Mercy Route, Poisoning, Post Pacifist Route, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything's peaceful. The barrier's gone. The underground is deserted. Monsters live with humans and all is well.</p><p>Except for Chara and Frisk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Undertale.
> 
> Trigger warning for suicide attempt and mentioned character death.

You pant for breath, dirty hands grasping nearby bushes to pull you further up the mountain. The paths have fallen into further disrepair in the year since the barrier's fallen, since the monsters have mingled with the humans that once feared them. Your title of ambassador is in name only. They have no need of you.

You'd try to find the same hole you fell down, but you're afraid at this point, you'd land on rocks and snap your neck. And that's not how you want to die. You're a big fan of repeat hits.

Frisk agrees with you, and you don't want to think too hard about why. You didn't want to take over the past several months, but you kind of had no choice. Frisk kept fucking off into the back of your head, and while you don't understand why you're still sharing this body, you didn't want to mess it up too badly then. So you bopped along, pretending to be Frisk, accepting Toriel's hugs (trying not to cry into her neck too often), sharing particularly egregious puns and ketchup packets with Sans, giving Papyrus new spaghetti recipes to try. Not even the damned skeleton suspected anything was too off. He looked at you once or twice, in a distractedly searching kind of way, but Frisk has had a hard life, it wasn't hard to chalk it up to that.

But now, there's no more pretense. There's just you and a mountain and determination egging you on. Your feet hurt and your hands are sore and your legs are scratched with brambles, but that's nothing compared to what's going to happen to you in the upcoming days. The smile on your face would remind your old family of a corpse. Then again, that's what you are, aren't you? You just haven't had the decency to lie down and not get up again yet.

Toriel kept all your old clothes. She brought them up from the underground one day, mouth set in a trembling line and ears twitching the way they did when she was on a hair-trigger. You didn't say anything, but a month later, you slipped into her closet when she was at her new job as a school secretary and you borrowed two shirts. You didn't plan on giving them back, so maybe it was stealing, but they were yours to begin with. Sort of. They were really Asriel's, but you don't want to think about him. Not now.

In another timeline, you killed him.

In another timeline, you killed them  _all_. Their remains were thick like chalk dust on your hands, gritting underfoot and seeping into every crevice of your well-worn knife. You don't know why you did it. Frisk doesn't know why you did it. It was like you'd both been compelled to, like someone else had tied strings to your joints and moved you along like a well-oiled puppet. Dance, Chara, dance. Slide the knife between her ribs, gently now. Slash him down, stab him in the back. Destroy everything you ever loved or cared about, Chara. Do it with a laugh.

You shudder, nearly falling to your knees. Your backpack bangs against your shoulder blades. Inside, Frisk stirs dully. You force them back down into an uneasy doze.

It was their idea to do this in the first place. It was their idea to come here, to Mt. Ebott, where it had all began for both of you. 

It was their idea to eat the buttercups again.

You protested at first. But then the nightmares woke both of you up again- and again- and again. You stifled your joint screams in the pillow until your jaws hurt from clenching your teeth too hard. Toriel would have been more than happy to comfort you. You couldn't allow your victim to give you solace for your sins. 

Toriel would be sad. Your neck prickles, laughter bubbling up in your throat that sounds more like sobs. You know it will be more than sadness. You've already seen the depths of her grief once. Hers and Asgore's, and it was so much pain, you don't think you've ever seen its like. You can bet for damn sure your birth family never cried like that when you went missing. Probably celebrated having one less mouth to feed, you think sourly, picking one foot up and putting it down. That's all it will take. Just one foot, in front of the other, until there's no more need.

It will be hard, dying in the midst of the flowers. The buttercups will hurt your hands, and burn your throat as you choke them down. You don't know how fast they will work this time. You don't plan on stopping after all. It's not like you have any pretenses to keep up.

In the end, you fall down the hole again anyway, by accident. The flowers are still there, and you land on a cushion of forgotten magic, sneezing when the hanging corona of pollen hits you. You wonder if Flowey's still alive down here. You don't think he is. Or if he is, maybe he'll leave you alone. You doubt he wants to see you anymore than you want to see him.

_We're here,_ you tell Frisk. They instantly perk up and you see invigoration flow through them, brightening their mood in a way that you've never seen up top. Even though the underground is utterly deserted, they almost seem- happy.

_Let's find the buttercups,_ Frisk tells you, bouncing on their feet. You feel your own toes bumping up and down, and it hurts after the vigorous climb up the mountain. You don't stop them, though. It's best they experience what little joy they can now.

It takes a while, but you don't mind it. It's a stroll through Memory Lane, nostalgia like ash melting on your tongue. It's not like anyone will think you've gone here of all places. Frisk was vehement in their dislike of the underground without the monsters there anymore. 

You're prepared, or as prepared as you can be. Your backpack is full of water bottles and snack cakes. You've got your spare sweater, and a lap blanket rolled up tight. Frisk added three boxes of band-aids and you didn't stop them. 

You stop. Now that you're there, you're not sure you can do it. Your hands prickle with remembered pain.

_I can do it,_ Frisk says, and you feel so ashamed, you let them. They kneel down, plucking buttercups by the fistful. Even curled up as you are, you feel bursts of liquid agony over your palms. You don't know if it's really happening or not, but when you pay attention again, Frisk is studiously plastering their hands with band-aids. Almost every available surface is covered with neon, and you can't help but laugh.

_Go back,_ Frisk absently tells you.  _I've just picked them, not eaten them yet._

_I know,_ you say. Your mouth is dry, but it doesn't hurt. Bitterness will soon poison your taste buds, will blister your tongue and burst like rotten fruit. For now, there is only trail dust coating your teeth.

_You're filled with determination!_ you think, rocking back and forth in a corner of your shared mind, laughing as the first petals bloom acrid on Frisk's tongue. Frisk says nothing. 

They don't have to.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poisoning continues.
> 
> A familiar face finds them.

You hate admitting it, but you're so  _bored_. When you insisted you be left behind in the underground, you didn't expect things to be so  _dull_. You could do whatever you wanted, right? But it's not the same when there's no one to admire you, no one to be shocked at your misdeeds, no one to grandstand to and play with. You spend days in a stupor, petals drooping along the ground and wishing with all your heart (twisted and broken it might be) that even for a day, you could be with someone else.

Then you get your wish and you beg, with every fiber of your being, for Someone to take it back.

You're visiting the garden, as you do, because you like sinking your roots down and tangling them with the golden flowers, you like to pretend that things are the way they used to be, and when you close your eyes and pretend really hard, sometimes it feels like you're Asriel again, and your parents are together, and Chara's here, too.

Only this time, you open your eyes and you think time has skipped backwards. Because Chara's curled up in a ball on the ground, and their hands are full of buttercups.

"C-Chara?" you stutter, skidding to their side and nearly slamming into them. They roll over on their back and you see it's Frisk, but why would Frisk be down here? Why would Frisk be downing buttercup petals by the handful? Maybe you've gone crazy, you think. Maybe you've been so alone, day in and day out, your mind's finally snapped.

"Asriel," they whisper, and it's Chara's  _voice_ , it might be Frisk's body, but they  _sound_ like Chara, and you don't realize you're crying until your tears splash into their sweater. You didn't even know you  _could_ cry anymore.

"What are you doing?" you demand, and they laugh weakly.

"What's it look like?" they ask, and your leaves cringe. "We're just finishing what I started. That's all."

"We?" you ask, because you have to know, and Chara nods, the effort looking like it's exhausted them.

"Me and Frisk," they say. "We can't do it, Asriel. I can't do it anymore. We- you wouldn't understand-"

"Bullshit," you tell them, and you don't know why. You should just leave them to it. It's not like you care. Let them die, gasping and choking on their own blood, blisters bursting down their throat. Let their hands blister and bruise and swell. Why should you give a shit. They left you behind.

But you do.

"Soulless murderer here, remember?" you singsong, twining leafy tendrils around them and uncurling their body so you can tuck their blanket closer around them.

"I killed everyone," Chara says bleakly and you freeze, petals curling tight around your face.

"I don't even know  _why_ ," Chara continues. You can see tears in their eyes, slowly dripping down their cheeks. "I didn't- there was no reason- not to do  _that_ , I just- I reset, and it's fine now- they're happy now- But I-" They hiccup, crying harder, and you can't make out what they're saying anymore, besides  _sorry_ over and over.

"Hey," you say, patting them awkwardly with a leaf. "It's- it's okay, Chara, it's okay." You don't know what else to say. You don't know why you want to soothe them, except it's  _Chara_.Even if Frisk is in there somewhere, too. Frisk's not so bad.

"It's not," they burst out, coughing, and you wince at the blood speckled on their lips. How long have they been down here? How long have you been locked in your own boredom, not noticing your friend- your  _sibling_ \- choking away their last remnants of life?

"It is," you contradict them, mostly to be contrary, because it's not like you know how to be comforting. You're not Toriel or even Asgore. You have no idea what to do. You're a fucking  _flower_.

"I'm sorry, Asriel," Chara whispers. "I can't-" They cough again, and you panic, because it's too much like what happened the first time for comfort, it's too much like when you hovered over them, helpless and desperate, as they husked out their last breaths-

And when you blink, you're not a flower anymore.

You look down at your paws in wonder. They're bigger than they used to be. Chara's eyes widen in shock, but you have no time, and you lean over and hug them, as gently as you can, before letting your magic uncurl in the center of you.

"This time, I'm telling," you say firmly. There are still tendrils of vines wrapped around your arms, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you get out of the underground and become a fucking plant again, because even without a soul- 

You aren't letting Chara die again.


	3. Chapter 3

When you wake up, you aren't lying in a bed of flowers anymore. There's a soft mattress beneath you and a comforter piled on top of you and when you crack one eye blearily open, you realize you're ensconced in Frisk's room. The curtains are the same old blue and purple stripes, and there's a painting on the wall that Undyne made- it's messy and scratched at the corners, but it's still recognizably Alphys, and Undyne made it for you, and you didn't have the heart to get rid of it, even when Frisk fucked off for so long.

_Oh no,_ Frisk groans inside and you follow suit.

"Hey, kiddo," Sans greets you. You open both eyes and see the skeleton sitting on a stool next to your bed, leaning against the wall. He's smiling at you, but you can see the concern glinting in his eyes, and you look away. You don't deserve concern. "Mind telling me what you were thinking?"

"What the fuck does it matter," you grumble, glaring at him. Your throat hurts, but not as badly as it did, and you wonder how long you've been in this bed.

"Language, kid," he chastises you, but it sounds formulaic, like he's picked it up from Toriel.

"How long?" you ask instead of getting angry like he probably wants you to. Sans likes it when people get fired up, so you like confounding his expectations.

"Once Tori found you? And Fl- Asriel told her what you did?" he clarifies, and your cheeks flush brilliant red. "You've been in here a week, kiddo," he says. "Everyone's been taking shifts to watch over you. Lucky me, I get to see you wake up." He grins wider.

"Oh," is all you can say. Your mouth is painfully dry.

"Can I have a drink," Frisk pushes past you to say. Their voice changes a bit, but you're sick, so it's not like Sans will notice. He looks at you curiously before a plastic glass full of water floats over to you. There's a bendy straw popped in the top.

"Thanks," Frisk says eagerly and you both drink, sighing in relief as the water flows down your throat. You're afraid it will hurt, but it doesn't. 

"I'll get Tori," Sans tells you once you've set the glass down on the bedside table and you freeze, pulse thudding in your ears. You don't want to see her. You do but you don't. You don't know what Asriel told her either, and that scares you, too.

"It can wait," you try to bargain, but Sans shakes his head and you think maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because even in the grips of suicidal despair, you can't see Frisk turning away their mom. 

Sans vanishes and a few minutes later, you hear footsteps creaking down the hallway. Toriel opens the door and you start crying because you don't know what else to do, even though it hurts your throat. And she just comes over and hugs you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and you cry harder (and you think Frisk is crying with you) because you don't deserve to be hugged, you tried to die  _again_ , and you just- 

"Chara and Frisk, I'm so glad my children are alive," she murmurs, and your heart stops.

* * *

 

_You don't know where your mom is, but you've got a pretty good guess. You can feel it somehow, beating like a second heart, a ruby red pulse point in the base of your throat that urges you on. You know humans are staring (and why wouldn't they? They might be used to monsters, but you look like shit and are still covered in pulsing vines, of course they stare), and you hate it, because you remember what happened the last time they stared, but you run anyway, paw pads slapping against the concrete. Because Chara's dying and this time, you're not going to let them._

_You slam through a door and then another one and then Toriel is_ there _, and she looks so shocked, you're afraid you've just killed her, too._

_"Yes, yes, it's Flowey," you burst out impatiently._

_"Asriel?" she whispers, and you stop short, pretending there aren't tears in your own eyes, because there's no time for emotions, and you're still a heartless fucking flower under the fur, aren't you?_

_"You need to come with me right now," you say instead. "Underground. The garden."_

_"Why?" Toriel asks, and you shake your head._

_"There's no time for that," you tell her. "Now. Or it will be too late."_

_When she sees Chara's crumpled body, she falls to her knees, sobs choking off before they can start._

_"How?" she asks, and her voice is so little- so lost- you don't know what to say for a long moment._

_"How could Frisk- how could they both get sick with the same thing? It's not-" Toriel's voice breaks as she gathers Frisk's body close, heedless of the blood staining her paws._

_"It's not illness, Mom," you blurt out, and it surprises you more than it surprises her, you think, hearing that._

_"What do you mean?" she asks, tightening the blanket. They're still breathing- you can hear it._

_"Buttercups," you whisper, pointing at the flowers crumpled by their side. "Chara did it too- it's buttercup poisoning, they're poisoned, it was Chara's plan when they were alive, I- I'm sorry, I should have told then, I..."_

_"Explain later," Toriel tells you, not unkindly, as she stands, lifting Frisk's body with her. "Please," she adds, seeing the stricken look on your face. "They need to be healed."_

_"It's not just Frisk," you nearly yell at her, before you can hold it back. You don't know how Chara will feel about her knowing, but you don't care, either. Toriel deserves to know. "Chara's there, too. I don't know how. It's Frisk_ and _Chara."_

_Toriel sways on her feet before taking a deep, ragged breath._

_"Come on," she says. "You're not staying down here anymore. Even if you turn back into a flower. I'll get you the best flowerpot in the city if I have to."_

_You can't tell if you're laughing or crying._

 


	4. Chapter 4

You expect more. Anger, perhaps. Recriminations. Some sort of menacing boss monster magic to rip you free from Frisk's body and send you back to the grave where you belong (because after all, it's your fault, isn't it? It's your fault that Frisk wants to die, because it's your hand that wielded the knife in that other timeline, the one you don't want to think about, the one that makes you feel sick and shivery inside, like you've just swallowed poison)-

But Toriel only hugs you, then fluffs up your pillows and refills your water glass, making sure you have easy access to it. She smiles at you, but it's tinged with sadness.

"We'll talk later," she promises you, but it doesn't sound threatening. A little stern maybe, but that's probably because of the whole "hey Mom I decided to disappear for at least a week and also try to off myself by eating toxic flowers. Again." more than anything else. Frisk can't even look her in the eyes and truth be told, you can't either. You're too afraid of what you'll see there.

Asgore stoops through the doorway to visit when she leaves. He's carrying a cup of tea that rattles on its saucer (because he's nervous, you realize with a pang, and it hurts both of you). To your eternal relief, the tea tastes like mint and some kind of fruit. If it was golden flower, you think you'd run screaming from the room. He sits on Sans's stool, listening to it creak under his weight, and smiles awkwardly at you.

"I can at least offer you tea, my child- my children," he corrects himself, and your cheeks flush. You lean out of bed, burying your face in his cloak because it's easier than seeing the sadness in his eyes. It feels like benediction when his arms wrap around you, anchoring you in bed. You wonder why everyone knows that you're here, too. Why everyone's being so nice to you. They shouldn't. Frisk glares at you inside and tells you that damn right they should, because you deserve kindness too. You know they're just lying to make you feel better, but you appreciate it anyway.

He can't stay long. When he leaves, he fluffs up your pillow too, and you wonder if that's a thing when you visit sick children. You don't know from your own family. You were lucky to have a pillow. Frisk shrugs shyly and looks away, and you can see something in that defensive shoulder hunch, but you don't pry. You want to, but you know some secrets are hard to spill. Maybe even impossible.

_I tried to kill myself once,_ Frisk says suddenly, and you freeze in the act of setting your tea cup down. You didn't expect that, but maybe it's not so surprising after all, considering how readily they turned to dying.

_I took a bottle of sleeping pills,_ Frisk continues in a small voice. You feel the body's shoulders curl inward, feel yourself sink under the blankets. It feels like hiding.  _From the medicine cabinet. I threw most of them up. They didn't take me to the hospital._

_Fuck them,_ you tell Frisk, surprising a laugh from them.  _They suck. I'm sorry._

_It's okay,_ Frisk shrugs, but it's not. 

Asriel comes in before you can argue anymore. He looks hesitant, more like the brother you knew way back when. Living vines loop around his wrists like bracelets, and his eyes are unsettlingly dark, but it's still Asriel. It's still your sibling and your friend and he still looks like an awkward goat child, complete with scruffy fur and soft paw pads and the same old green-and-yellow-striped sweater, and you beckon him over. Frisk casually hangs back as you hug him, so tightly he bleats and wriggles free while you blush and pretend your eyes are dry.

"Asshole," you mutter into his shoulder. "It's your fault everyone knows I'm still- here- isn't it."

"You're welcome," he says with a snicker, punching you lightly in the elbow. It doesn't hurt, but you pretend it does for a second, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and rubbing the spot with an expression of put-upon pain.

"Liar," he tells you and you laugh, but there's a bit of regret buried underneath it. You look down, fiddling with the comforter because you don't know what else to do, and this feels  _really_ mushy. Frisk laughs at you, but you just kind of shove them back and snicker because it's not like they do any better with emotional junk. They just hide it better.

_Shut up,_ Frisk scowls, and you grin at them.

"So are you?" you gesture vaguely at Asriel, not willing to attempt putting it into words. He shrugs, skin tinting pink beneath the fur. 

"I...guess," he says, foregoing the visitor's stool for sitting right on the side of your bed. "I haven't turned back into a flower, if that's what you mean. I just still have these." He wiggles his paws, and the vines move with him. They're a vivid green color, and look oily in the bright bedroom light. "They don't go away- I mean. I tried to yank them off and it didn't go so well. I screamed," he mutters.

"Crybaby," you say, laughing. For a moment, he looks angry, like Flowey (so much so a chill slips down your spine before you realize it's there), then he laughs and pushes you over into the pillows.

"Am not," he protests, sticking his tongue out. You do it back, crossing your eyes for good measure, and he laughs.

After Asriel is Napstablook and Mettaton and Undyne and Alphys and Papyrus (although Sans comes with him and reminds him "use your indoor voice, bro, they need their rest," and he gives you at least five bony hugs that should feel uncomfortable but instead just make you feel warm all over). Sans brings you a bowl of soup, and you let Frisk eat it because you're bored, and they don't mind Sans having to use magic to steady the bowl in their lap.

The skeleton keeps  _watching_ you and it  _hurts_ because you remember that one blue eye, lit with power, you remember bones everywhere, splintering through your arms and legs, you remember him taunting you, calling you brother-killer (and how could you have hurt Papyrus? How could you have hurt  _anyone_ , you  _monster?_ ), telling you that kids like you should burn in hell-

All of a sudden, you're not hungry anymore.

"Hey, kid, it's okay," Sans says softly as he takes the bowl away, setting it on the dresser by rows of pill bottles and crumpled up Kleenex. You shake your head, taking over from Frisk, and huddle in the center of the bed, feeling the ache in your chest grow until you don't know if it's pain from your own guilt or pain from the residual poisoning.

"Hey-" Suddenly, he's right  _there_ and you can't help but cry out, yelping and diving back under the covers, as if that can prevent a tibia or an ulna slamming through your skull.

"Whoa, kiddo, hey," Sans flips the blankets off, leaving you blinking like an upended turtle. You feel horribly exposed, terribly vulnerable, and you  _hate_ it.

"Fuck off," you spit out, trying to make him hate you, trying to make him leave, but he doesn't. He just stands there, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other still holding the covers back.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he says instead, voice gentle, like he's talking to a frightened baby rabbit, and you glare at him because you're not a baby  _anything_ and you certainly aren't  _scared_ of him (even if you know that maybe you are, deep down, but you also know it's nothing more than you deserve).

"It's okay," he tells you again. His other hand comes out of his pocket and you automatically cringe back until you see what he's holding out to you.

It's a fucking peace offering and you laugh because of  _course_ it's a packet of ketchup.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken so long to upload this! I meant to finish it almost a week ago, but executive dysfunction happened.

When you wake up the next morning, you realize Chara's still sleeping and you're alone. There's a book resting on the stool by the wall, a bookmark shoved haphazardly in the middle, so you guess that someone's supposed to be watching you and stepped out for a moment. You wonder who. You wonder if they're going to get in trouble for leaving. You decide you don't care.

It's funny because you're the one who wanted to kill yourself. It's your body. You hate it sometimes, but it's definitely yours. Your scruffy brown hair, your probably-nearsighted eyes. Your slightly-too-thin limbs. Your scrapes and scratches and birthmarks.

You're the one who wanted to die but ever since Toriel brought you back, it's all been about Chara. Sans and Chara stayed up for almost an hour last night, talking around each other. You don't mind, not exactly. You don't begrudge Chara time spent with their family. You just- well- you're an interloper now more than ever. Before, it was okay, because their first child was dead (even if they weren't really, Chara wanted to pretend they were, and they didn't mind hanging back and letting you do whatever). But now, everyone acknowledges that they're there. Everyone loves Chara. 

Hell, even  _Asriel_ managed to come back from flower hell because of Chara and you think that's pretty special. But- 

There's nothing for you here now, is there?

You wonder, curled up under your blankets and listening to Chara sleep inside, if maybe there's a way you can just go away. Permanently. You can't hurt your body because you'd hurt Chara, too, but maybe- just maybe- Well.

Chara needs their own body, don't they? And you don't mind giving yours up.

A slight smile flits across your face, gone before you can properly register it. The door creaks and your eyelids slam shut, letting yourself slump into the mattress in an approximation of sleep. It's Papyrus watching over you, you notice with a quick peek, and he's miraculously quiet around you. Probably to make sure you get your rest, you think, and it hurts to think about that.

It's okay though, you think, rolling over on your side so that you can actually go back to sleep. Soon you'll be gone and Chara can have a happily ever after with their family for  _real_ this time.

* * *

 

It feels...quiet in your head, you think. Frisk's around, but it's like they're sleeping or something, because you can barely rouse them. And you want to, because Monster Kid visited and you know that MK is much more Frisk's friend than you'll ever be. They drag themself to the body's controls, but it doesn't feel right.

You chalk it up to the residual effects of the poisoning. (Later, you'll wish you hadn't. But how were you to know? It doesn't make sense, you're not supposed to have a happy ending, it's supposed to be Frisk, isn't it?) You're annoyed because you're still so exhausted and your cough burns your lungs. Toriel says you should stay in your room and rest, but Sans levitates you downstairs anyway, a lazy smirk on his face.

The couch is just as boring as the bed, but at least there's more traffic.  Toriel dwarfs her armchair, knitting something in pastel pinks and blues that looks kind of like a sweater. Your hands itch for knitting needles, but you don't say anything. Mom probably doesn't trust you with sharp objects right now anyway.  _You_ don't trust yourself with sharp objects. Knitting needles aren't really anything like knives, but when you flex your fingers, you can feel the heft of the knife handle, the chalky feel of dust against your palm.

_No_. You shudder, drawing Toriel's attention. She tucks a blanket around you tighter, fussing until you want to snap at her to leave you alone. You want to shout that you've watched her die, that you killed her yourself. You want to rail at her, beating your hands on her chest as you remember the knife sliding between her ribs.

You say nothing.

She makes you pie and you're relieved that you can still eat it. Your stomach twists after, but you don't throw up. Frisk is quietly appreciative in the back of your skull, and you wish that they would take over again. You don't know what to do with yourself. It's been so long since you had your own body- and this isn't your body. It's not a bad one, you suppose, as far as bodies go, but it's not  _yours_. Yours is moldering bones in a forgotten patch of flowers, far below the surface. It's a harsh thought, an unpleasant one, no matter how much you always wanted to die, and again, you reach out to Frisk, imploring them to take over, have another slice of pie, talk to Toriel-

But Frisk's not there.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions a previous suicide attempt at the start in detail.
> 
> Also, my apologies for taking so long with this chapter, I just realized it was going in weird places, and I've been debating with myself for weeks whether or not I wanted to go there? You'll see when you read, I guess.

It is easier than you thought it would be to force down the sleeping pills. They leave a bitter taste on your tongue and dust on your gums, but you just refill your water glass and drink it down with them. The bathroom tile is freezing under your bare feet, but you just stand there, tossing down pills like tic tacs, letting the chill seep into your bones. Your pajama pants are several inches too short, the cat print on them faded, and you grimace in annoyance when you drop a pill, because you're always afraid your pants are going to split if you bend down the wrong way. 

Not that it matters anymore. Perhaps they will put it in your obituary. Found with ripped pants. You stifle a snort, crouching down and picking up the lost pill and blowing on it to remove the germs. They'd bury you under a girl's name, but you can't bring yourself to care. It doesn't matter. The people sleeping down the hall are your parents in name only. You stand on tiptoe and peek into the mirror. It's got a crack on the side, just like you. Same old face. There's a bruise splotched across one cheekbone, but it's fading now. Yellow and green, instead of blue and purple. The police and everyone would probably chalk it up to kid stuff, but maybe not. Little kids don't usually swallow all the sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet.

You peek into the bottle. Empty now. You squeeze yourself into the corner of the bathtub, the cold of the porcelain making you shiver. You like sitting there though, hidden behind the flower-patterned shower curtain. The bottle is reassuringly hard against your palm. Normally you tuck yourself away, but this time, you sprawl out a little- just a little- making sure that you're able to be seen. You want to be found. You want to be seen.

Nobody notices. You don't die. You spend ages throwing up, holding your own hair back with one clammy hand. Your throat feels raw. You crawl back into bed with the trash can jammed up against the side. 

Nobody cares.

 

* * *

You don't know where you are. You wanted to leave your own body- not your body anymore, you remind yourself muzzily, it's Chara's- but now you don't know what happened and you don't know where you are. You try to sit up, choking and spitting up flowers. Panic freezes you in place before you realize they aren't buttercups.

You look around. Dust and pollen spiral lazily above your head. The scent of golden flowers is everywhere, hanging in the air. You bring your hands up and freeze again. They aren't your hands. They are paler, the knuckles are bumpier and look swollen. You turn them over, examining scarred, pitted palms. You're wearing a green-and-yellow-striped sweater with ragged hems, and there are dirt stains on your knees.

You stand up, dislodging a heap of flowers. Roots tangle around your ankles, nearly tripping you before you manage to step free. Spinning in place, you realize you're somehow- impossibly- under Mt. Ebott again. 

You run, your breath cutting your lungs, pain creaking and throbbing in each joint like you're a robot slowly winding down. It's not long before you find a suitably reflective surface, but it feels like forever. When you see your face for the first time, you want to laugh, but the sound is bitter, even choked down into your throat.

Somehow- and you have no idea how- you're in Chara's body. And they're still in yours.

"At least I'm not bones," you mutter to yourself, in a grim attempt at humor, but it falls flat. The sound swells and dies, making you feel like you've invaded the sanctity of a church. Or a cemetery. Not far off, considering you just pulled yourself out of Chara's grave. When you wanted to leave your own body to Chara for their happy-ever-after, this isn't exactly what you were expecting.

You shiver suddenly, wrapping unfamiliar arms around your sweater-engulfed torso. Last time you fell down here, Flowey was still around.

This time, you're all alone. 

It hurts more than you thought it would. 

 _Maybe I can- get out of here,_ you think, starting to walk.  _Switch back with Chara? But then I'll still be around..._ You don't really know what to do. Does Chara even miss you? Will they say anything? You're not sure. After all, if they just pretend to be you, they get the best of both worlds. Double the family, double the love.

But somehow, you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach, you don't think that Chara is just going to let things slide.


	7. Chapter 7

You're not going to panic.

You're not going to cry either because you aren't a crybaby and crying won't bring Frisk back. It's been hours and you keep rooting through the back of your head, hoping that Frisk is just sleeping, but you know they aren't. You know what it feels like when Frisk is asleep. It's quiet and soft and warm, and now it's cold and hollow, like something's been pried out of your skull and you can't get it back.

You're going to get them back, though. You just don't know how.

You want to tell someone, but who can you tell? Mom will just freak out. Asriel might freak out, too. Or do that weird Flowey thing, and you don't think a soulless murder flower is going to help your predicament. 

In the end, you don't tell anyone. 

All you can think is going back to Mt Ebott. Go back to the start. It's probably pointless- hopeless- but what else can you do? Frisk needs to come back. You feel clumsy, like you're wearing a human suit a few sizes too small. When Frisk let you take over, it was okay because Frisk was still  _there_ but without them, you're painfully reminded that this body isn't yours. Not yours and it never will be.

You beg off early, claiming exhaustion. It's not hard. Toriel hugs you good night (you pretend to be Frisk and say good night, too, and hope that your voice doesn't crack and you don't give yourself away). Asriel high fives you and you do that awkward shoulder bump thing that you do when you feel weird about too much affection. No more guard. They trust you, you realize, and it hurts because you're about to shatter that trust in a million pieces.

You leave a note. You owe them that much at least. Your handwriting is shit now because it feels weird to hold a pencil in Frisk's hand with no Frisk, but you tell them not to worry (you know they will). You tell them you aren't trying to kill yourself again (will they believe you?). That everything is fine (and isn't that a fucking lie, the biggest lie of them all).

Then you open the window and shimmy down the drain pipe.

At the bottom, you sprawl in the garden, panting, feeling the strain through overworked muscles. You're not really recovered yet, and it takes more energy to move the body than you thought it would. Apparently Frisk lent you more strength than you realized. It doesn't matter, you resolve, pushing yourself to your feet and adjusting your sweater. The night air is cold, and you shiver a little. 

Frisk will be at Mt Ebott. Somehow. And you're going to bring them back. Somehow.

And you're going to lay down in the dirt, over your grave, and you're going to give up and die already because your expiration date is long past due, and you're so tired of fucking everything up.

Somehow.

* * *

 

"Going somewhere?"

You startle, badly, tripping over your own feet and skinning one palm on the sidewalk. Sans looks at you cautiously, but doesn't offer his hand. You appreciate it as you awkwardly lever yourself back up.

"I have to," you whisper. "You don't understand-"

"Sure I do," Sans says. He looks angry, and the old fear trickles down your spine. "You're gonna do something stupid and you're gonna break Tori's heart again."

"Frisk is gone," you state baldly, and have the dubious satisfaction of seeing a skeleton look shocked. "I don't know why. I just- maybe I can find out at Mt Ebott. I don't know. I just-" You rake your uninjured hand through Frisk's hair.

"They have to come back," you tell him, and you hate the note of pleading in your voice. Sans looks at you, considering.

"I'll take you," he tells you, and now he does hold out one hand. "Come on."

Eyes widening, you take it.

Well. That was probably faster, you think a dizzying minute later. You feel like you're going to throw up and the world won't stop spinning, but you're standing in a patch of golden flowers, the air thick with pollen and dust. You're here.

"That's weird," Sans says. He sounds...kind of scared actually, and your head whips around, your body automatically falling into some kind of defensive position, because anything that scares  _him_ , you don't want to fuck with-

Your grave. 

You stare at it, mouth dropped open. You know where it is. You've always felt drawn to it, in a weird, morbid sort of way. Knowing where your bones are is an odd comfort.

But now-

The flowers are ripped up. There's a gaping hole in the center of the earth. And you know- before you even go over and peer into it- that your body is  _gone_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Sorry about that.

"This is new," you croak. You don't know how to feel. When you blink, your grave is still a gouge in the earth, still raw and open and missing you.  _I'm not there,_ you think with a dawning, swooping sort of horror and it's not until Sans is coaxing your body- Frisk's body- down to the ground, pushing your head between your knees, that you realize how close you've come to fainting.

"I think we can safely say that Frisk is still around," Sans says dryly when you finally look up again, feeling marginally better. You make a face at him and he shrugs. "Nothing else down here to desecrate a grave, kiddo."

"You hope," you mutter, feeling your back prickle. But you don't really feel like something  _bad_ is going to happen. No, the bad  _already_ happened, the only dangerous thing in the underground anymore is  _you_ and suddenly, you feel dust, thick and cloying, over your fingers for a split second. You lean over and throw up between your shoes, but avoid the gaping hole in the ground where you used to be. You might be back there soon after all, you don't want to spend the rest of eternity lying in vomit.

Sans rubs your back and you want to tell him to stop, but you don't because it feels kind of- well, nice, like maybe someone's got your back, like maybe you can figure out this mess and put Frisk back where they belong. You don't care what happens to you anymore. 

"There's footprints," Sans says suddenly, and you follow the direction of his metacarpal. It's weird looking at your own footprints, you think, and have to bite back laughter.

"Let's go then," you rasp out, and lever yourself to your feet. After a long, tense moment, Sans follows.

* * *

 

You don't know why Chara's body hasn't rotted away. Maybe it's some kind of monster magic? You appreciate it anyway. As much as you like Sans and Papyrus, the thought of being an animated skeleton isn't very appealing. You'd rather you weren't in any sort of body at all, but fate (or determination?) apparently has other plans. You don't know where you're going, but the thought of staying beside the grave you just scrambled out of is beyond unappealing.

You wonder if Chara knows you're gone yet. You wonder if they care. No- You shake your head, cringing at the unfamiliar locks of hair that slap against your jaw. You  _know_ they care. They wouldn't be Chara if they didn't, even if they won't admit it. You wish that you could have explained first, but they would have stopped you. They think that you deserve their family, but you know you don't. You've never deserved a family. Your own birth parents didn't want you, why would anyone else  _choose_ you? Toriel had, but now that she had her  _real_ child back? You'd seen how that goes with foster kids who got adopted. When people got their own kid to pop out of the womb, foster kids tended to come right back. Monsters can't be that different, can they?

You're so cold. You wonder if it's because the temperature really is that low or if Chara's body is that sensitive to the lack of heat. _Maybe a bit of both,_ you decide, wishing the ragged sweater could be that much thicker. Chara's always preferred longer sleeves and more layers when they are the one in control of your body.

As you stumble on, you suddenly duck into a box that was left behind in the hasty migration to the outside. You don't know why, but your heart's hammering in your chest and you have the sobering, irresistible knowledge that if you move again or make a single sound- anything to make your presence known- 

You're going to die.

The box is uncomfortable. It's full of splinters and bits that poke into your bare ankles, gouging at your fingers and catching in your hair. The bottom bit is submerged in something that's probably mud but could be anything, and your shoes slowly sink into it.

You don't move, thankful for the lid that's partially fallen over the entrance. The only way someone would know that you're here is to move it and who would want to?

A single, scraping sound from the path.

Your eyes widen. It's not Chara. You  _know_ that, Chara would never sneak up on you like that- for one, even in your body (perhaps especially in your body), Chara's not capable of that much dexterity anymore. For two, they know better than to make you panic. Sans wouldn't do it either, or Mom, and you don't know Asriel that well, but you don't think he would, either.

If it isn't any of the monsters you know, then...who?

You  _have_ to know and slowly- painfully so- you inch forward until you can just peer through the gap between the side of the box and the lid.

Another scraping sound.

The path is filled with black.

Black and white and something indefinable- it hurts your head to look at and you squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can because you can't make sense of it. You don't  _want_ to make sense of it. You can somehow tell it's stopped and you're pretty sure it's looking for you (and the thought is horrifying) but you just lie in the box in your newly borrowed should-be-dead body and concentrate on breathing as slowly and quietly as you can-

The black and white moves on, away from you.

You don't know you're crying until salt traces your stolen lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long.

You can't go forward anymore.

You know that, as sure as you know your own name. That-  _thing_ is forward. You don't know who or what it is, and you don't want to know. It reminds you of the lost souls a little, or the amalgamations, but it's worse. So,  _so_ much worse.

But what could be there for you in going back?

Are you really supposed to just lie down in Chara's grave again? You wonder what it would feel like, having dirt heaped over your body, feeling it run into your mouth and seep into your lungs, choking you. Would the flowers grow over you?  _Through_ you?

You can't stay in a box forever either and you finally wiggle free, grimacing at the mud in your shoes and the splinters in your hair. It's the worst sensory feeling, but you can't do anything about it now. You don't know if that thing will come back and you don't want to be there if it does. It's painful, retracing your steps, but you don't know what else to do. If there's anything else you  _can_ do. Once upon a time, maybe you'd eat the buttercups again but now you know just as intimately as Chara how painful that is.

You aren't Chara. You aren't brave enough to do that again, to feel the blisters burst on your tongue and the blood ooze from your raw throat. The thought makes you feel sick but you clamp your lips shut as tightly as you can, huffing in breath through your nose. You don't want to throw up and prove that you've been there.

It's not fair, you think, walking on your tiptoes as your socks squelch. You just wanted Chara to be happy. You just wanted to go away. And now you're here, trapped in a body that's not yours, could never be yours. It feels like a costume that's just barely the wrong size, something you could never be comfortable in, and-

You stop. Isn't that exactly what you've done to Chara? Your unfamiliar heart sinks down to your muddy toes.

You walk faster.

* * *

It is incredibly boring following someone else's trail, you think as you walk down the path, looking down every once in a while to make sure Frisk's footsteps ( _your_ footsteps) are still there. Sans doesn't talk, but you don't really want him to. You've got nothing to say and you doubt he has anything you want to hear. This feels like the cruelest joke to ever plague you, and you don't know how to fix it. If it even  _can_ be fixed. What if it can't? What if you and Frisk have to spend the rest of your lives in the wrong bodies? What if- you swallow hard. What if Frisk dies because your body's a walking corpse?

After all, you don't even know what kind of condition your body's even  _in_. It could be a walking skeleton like Sans. He and Papyrus might be pleased with a new addition to the bone family, but you doubt Frisk would be.

Then again, Frisk likes the bone bros a lot more than you do. Maybe they  _wouldn't_ mind.

"Stop," Sans says suddenly. You look up, annoyed, ready to tell him to go fuck himself, but- You stop, so fast he nearly runs into you.

It's  _you_ , walking down the path. Walking  _towards_ you and you wonder why, if it's Frisk, they're that desperate to return to your grave, but you don't question it because at that moment, they look up, see you, and start running. They nearly run into you and it hurts but you don't care because as weird as it is to look into your own face (and it's not moldering or bones at all, it looks just like it always did, just grubby and flushed), it's a thousand times worse to be trapped in Frisk's.

"I'm sorry," Frisk babbles, and despite it being translated through your vocal cords, it  _is_ Frisk, you know it is, and the relief makes your knees sag. "I just wanted you to be happy, Chara, I'm so sorry, I didn't know this would happen-"

"Hey, as terrific as this reunion is," Sans interrupts. "Why don't we continue the party back at Tori's, huh? She's probably worried sick."

"I left a note," you say defensively. Sans just looks at you, and you feel your face heat up.

"Please," Frisk says, and you don't understand the look they toss back over their shoulder, or the way they've tensed up. "Please, let's get out of here."

Sans gives them an odd look, but nods and holds onto both of you, and when you open your eyes again, you're standing on Mom's front lawn. To your relief, it doesn't look like anyone's started a search yet, so you don't think anybody's read your note.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Sans asks Frisk, and it's weird to see your face twist in worry.

"There-" Frisk hiccups, and you're startled to see how close they are to tears. "There was something there. It was black and white and- and goopy, and I don't know, but I couldn't  _look_ at it and I hid and it felt- it felt like it was looking for me."

Bones tighten around your wrist and you look up in alarm, trying to pull away.

Sans's eye is ghostly blue.

 


End file.
